Here you find the original/italian version of this: https://loscrittorevolante.com/2021/06/06/poesiadisordine/


I have my mind into disorder,

Into chaos,

I try to find order,

but it’s not something I cross.

I try to find an answer,

but then, I have to improvize,

when the unknown kicks in,

but I got that to razionalize,

isn’t always the best thing to get in.

But I guess that’s my sin,

as I want so much to win.

Disorder into my mind,

is always present,

costant, resilient.

I guess that’s how I work.

Somethimes I think I’m wise, like I was ancient,

other times, not that brilliant.

I looma t hope,

as it was some mirage,

where is the passage?

Mind my language,

Do I have the privilege?

Sometimes feeling like garbage,

but I need to carry the carriage.

Of love, i just want a taste,

a bite, before it’s too late.

What lays, beyond the time I waste?

It’s all copy-paste.

If it’s life something I took,

I can’t say I’m a good cook.



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